


Life is Full of Pain, I'm Cruisin' Through My Brain

by Anonymous



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Blood As Lube, Cock & Ball Torture, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Just; yknow; not consensual; rip, LMFAO - Freeform, Minor Original Character(s), Murdoc Niccals Whump, Non-Consensual Groping, Other, Past Sexual Abuse, Public Sex, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rough Sex, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Slurs, Spit As Lube, Trauma, Verbal Humiliation, Whump, better safe than sorry, even as a victim he's still an asshole, murdoc is an asshole, never a good victim eh mudsy boy, the perpetrator isnt russel; i didnt know if i had to make that clear or not but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Murdoc gets assaulted in a club.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The csa is only vaguely referenced, I just felt uncomfortable not tagging it. 
> 
> Watch the warnings in the tags, that's all else I'm gonna say on the matter.
> 
> I'm a fucking american prick and i _tried_ to swing some British slang an shit but yknow. Can only do so much lmfao
> 
> ***
> 
> A huge thanks to my dear friend for reading this fic over im sorry if i didn't properly express my gratitude, but it meant the world to me; lol i feel like i would have gone fucking insane without your help

The gents’ in the club was about exactly how Murdoc picture it - broken twitching flouresents, those nasty open metal cubicles, most of them with clearly broken doors, carved and scrawled out letters on every surface, deep scratches in the paint on the walls casting shadows in the dim lighting. More you couldn’t see, he was certain. The floor was covered in shining liquid and sludge, which he didn’t care to identify.  

All in all, a perfect shithole.

It more or less it matched the rest of the, ahem, _fine establishment_. He would love to say at least the drinks were cheap, but they were remarkably overpriced given their locale.

Well, whatever. It was nothing to him. He’d seen worse. He’d used worse. Hell, he’d fucked in worse.

Murdoc’s shoes make a squelching noise as he walked across the broken tile. He stepped in a particularly wet spot and cursed. Now _that_ was where he drew the line. He’d rather drink whatever was down there than have it stain his cuban heels.

He shook off his shoe, making a disgusted sound. He reached down and wiped it off with his sleeve. Hrm, better.

The lavatory was unoccupied, which was a nice break from the throbbing music and rowdy clubbers. That and his bandmates.

2d was as brainless and irritating as ever, prattling on about gormless nonsense and going after girls Murdoc was chatting up, little bint. All he needed was a vacant smile and some dumbarse comment and the birds were all bloody over him. That dopey, innocent grin... like he didn’t know what the fuck he was up to.

That and Murdoc didn’t think Russel even touched his drink, just sat in the corner with a scowl on his face, often enough directed at him. Every time he was enjoying himself, he’d look over and Russel’s preternatural, milky white eyes would be fixed on him, a disapproving frown below them. The bloke was young but he was stodgy as they came. Couldn’t Murdoc have _any_ fun? Fuckin’ killjoy.

He was beginning to think he'd never _really_ get to just fucking relish his life, the real start of it, all shiny and new, fame, fortune, and all. Not if he had to drag these bloody sods around the rest of his days.

Murdoc stepped up to a urinal and unzipped his trousers. He cut loose and groaned sloppily, his tongue lolling out. The worst part of drinking was the piss, but at least it felt good to get it all out. Life’s little pleasures he supposed. If it wasn’t such a cockblocker, alcohol really would be the perfect intoxicant. Well it was close enough, wasn’t it?

He heard the door open and some blokes walk into to lav behind him. The blaring music followed them - some rubbish pop song with inane and incessantly repeated lyrics and the bass boosted too much - until the door swung shut, and Murdoc twitched. He wasn’t really excited to go back out there; the night hadn’t been as fun as he thought it’d be. He considered ditching his bandmates and stealing off to a club or bar with a more suitable atmosphere, spending the night there. Hrm. a nice little dive where nobody knew him and that he could drink dry, that might be alright.

Murdoc put his cock away and wiped his hands on his jeans. He walked over to the basins and took a look in the mirrors. He ran his fingers through his mussed hair, fixing the strands here and there. He saw something caught in his teeth and picked it out with a jagged nail. Oh, hrm...speaking of which, ‘bout time he spruced up the polish.

He gathered up some saliva and spat into the sink. When he looked up, he saw the men who’d entered before hovering over him.

Oh great. Just what he needed, people who recognized him. Fame was a curse.

He was in too foul a mood to be too friendly, but he’d rather not alienate them, in case they were fans and not some paparazzi wankers. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and tried on something of a neutral expression. “Can I help you chaps with anything?”

They didn’t respond.

Impatience took over. “What, enjoying the view, are we? Usually that costs, mates.”

Still nothing. He didn’t like the looks on their faces.

Warning alarms were beginning to blare in his mind. He still had enemies after all. He pissed plenty of people off on the regular, even now.

He eyed the door, then took one last comb through his hair so as not to make it too obvious. He turned and flashed a smile, his heart starting to pound. “Well, best be going, lads. Nights still young an all.”

Murdoc stepped perhaps a little too hastily towards the door.

He felt his arm being grabbed, far too tight.

He yelped, which he turned to a growl. “Oi! Bugger off, you ugly bastard!” He drove one of his heels into the man’s shoe.

The man shrieked and cursed. He was unhanded, and he took off towards the exit.

He got to it, but that was all he got. He heard a blow rather than felt it, his vision blackening briefly.

When he roused, blinking, he felt the hand around his arm again. Murdoc turned, and there his two attackers stood, leering at him. The door was right behind him, his back pressed against it, but of course, of _course_ it had to swing fucking inwards. What inane tosser thought that one up?

He reached for the handle with his free hand, trying to keep the fear off his face.

The man closest slapped him.

He yelped, his hand going to the assaulted portion of his cheek. _“Fuck!_ You bloody -”

He was smacked again, quite soundly, and pulled from the door. The other man had hold of his other arm. They dragged him into the center of the room.

Fuck. fuck this was bad.

He thought his days of getting roughed up were behind him, but it looked like he was wrong.

He kicked as he was dragged. They both had a few stones on him, and maybe a quarter of a meter each. Their grips were vicelike on his arms. He was sure to have bruises on there later.

He shouted obscenities while he balled his fists, kicking and swinging at whatever he could get at, whatever was nearest. For that he took another blow to the head, and then one to the ribs. He cried out and doubled over. “ _Bastards_ …” he hissed.  

He was yanked towards one of the cubicles. They pulled him in and shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol I didn't mean to make this a multichapter, and part of it is bc I'm an attention slut ngl, but i just realized there were a lotta good chapter breaks in there and i wasn't gonna pass up on the opportunity.
> 
> also, not to be a cunt, but what's with all the fics where Muds is strictly the perpetrator of sexual violence instead of the victim, even tho he's consistently a victim in canon? hrm? 'rillaz fandom? hrm?
> 
> and let me tell you I've been resisting urge to make tasteless joke about a less than lovely altercation in the toilets because im a bastard but you gotta blow off steam somehow yeah?


	2. Chapter 2

Murdoc struggled. The close quarters meant he could get at them better. “ _Piss off_ , dickheads! Soddin mingebags! Plug-ugly arsemongers!”

Unfortunately, it meant they could get at him better too. He took another punch to the gut, and then to the ribs. He wheezed, doubling over.

The bigger one got behind him and grabbed him by the upper arms, holding him in place. He kicked around, shrieking obscenities. He took another blow to the back of the head for his troubles.

“Shut up. Mangey piece of shit.” The big man growled.

“My my, look at him. What a temper the little blighter has.” the other one said, a nasty smile pulling at his lips.

Murdoc snarled and tried to kick him.

The man laughed at him. bloody _laughed_. Arsehole. Piece of shit.

Out of nowhere he backhanded Murdoc. Murdoc reeled, and then growled at him like a cornered animal that'd just been struck.

 _Do you know who the bloody hell i am?!_ He wanted to snap, but he held his tongue. If they didn't know, it would probably make things worse, and if they _did_ it wouldn't do to remind them if he didn't have to.

He settled for the growl. “Soddin piss-faced cunt.”

The man ignored him, though he seemed to be amused at his reaction. He looked over Murdoc to his friend.

“Can you hold him steady, mate? Squirmy little bugger. It'll spoil the shot.”

The one that was speaking took out a camera and Murdoc just about rolled his eyes. “There are easier ways to get my photograph, you mad sadistic fucks!”

The smaller man with the blond hair, the one clutching the camera, grinned. Murdoc thoroughly did not enjoy that grin. “Not the kind we want, mate.”  
  
The other one held him tighter, bruisingly so, and a flash went off. Murdoc blinked. “Alright, you’ve had your soddin’ picture now…”

The wannabe photographer put back his camera, still with that nasty look in his eye.

He reached out and ran his fingers up Murdoc's thigh.

Murdoc’s blood ran cold.

“Ge….get your bloody hands off me.” he said, though it lacked the punch of his previous protests.

The man’s hand settled on his crotch, gripping his cock through it. Not hard enough to hurt, but he still had his fingers wrapped around it. Murdoc felt chills running through his spine. He twisted, kicking out. “Get off me! Tosser! Bastard! _Piss the fuck off…_!”

The man punched him square in the eye. Murdoc’s vision glitched, his head spun.

The man wedged himself closer, hissing. “Don’t you try that again, now.” He grabbed Murdoc’s cock through his pants again and _squeezed_.

Murdoc shrieked, his heels clicking on the floor as he flailed. “Alright, alright, fuck, _shit…_ ” he tried to push him off futily. “Point taken, _point taken aahhah_ …”

The blond man released him, and he curled in on himself, his hands on his groin, biting his lip and groaning. “oi... _ffffuck_ …”  
  
The man’s shoved Murdoc's hands aside, his fingers returned to Murdoc's cock. Murdoc flinched, but the touch was gentler. The man was stroking it through the denim, which made Murdoc twitch in discomfort. His dick was still sore and throbbing, but he wasn't exactly enjoying the contact regardless.

The two men seemed to be enjoying his reaction, leering at him with rapt interest. The one stroking him kept at it, and then suddenly gave Murdoc's bell-end a flick. He yelped and jumped. They both seemed to find that very amusing.

The two of them unfastened Murdoc's belt. His stomach churned, fear crawling through his nerves. Having his belt undone held a plethora of new directions this situation could head, not a single one of them good at all.   

Before he could dwell on it for too long, the one that had been fondling him stuffed his hand down Murdoc’s trousers. Trousers _and_ pants. Murdoc made such a pathetic noise, one of both discomfort and fright. Shame spread through him. He shouldn't be giving them the satisfaction. He...shouldn't be afraid. Really was pathetic. He'd been pawed at plenty of times, right?

Never held down. And in his pants. In a private place...no one around...when it was in public it was usually kept to a one and done...

He felt the bastard's fingers all over his cock and his balls, tangled in his pubes. His digits were cold, and none too gentle. The man rifled around in there like he was rooting through a linen drawer.

Murdoc squirmed, wishing he could just push the fucker off. He hoped he'd get bored soon. He hoped they both would.

“Having fun are we?” He muttered, wincing. “enjoying ourselves, are we? You...you like holding blokes down so they can't get a proper swing at ya and playing with their bits? that give you a _thrill_?”

“Shut it.” the man scowled.

“Why so defensive, eh? I'm not the one molesting a chap in the loo.” He glanced up at the brute behind him. “With your mate, eh? Sounds a bit, _ahh_ ,” he whimpered, grimacing, practically on his heels as he tried to pull away. “Sounds a bit _faggy_ , don't it…?”

The man slapped him again. Right across his bruised eye.

Murdoc yelped, gritting his teeth. “you could just _ask_ y'know....Not _me,”_ he said, perhaps a bit too quickly, “but there's plentya blokes who'd do this _willingly…_ maybe not in a grubby toilet neither...’d be a lot nicer... _easier_ I'd say…”

The man growled. “Well, maybe i want _you_ , eh? Niccals?”

Murdoc felt a twist in his gut. So they _did_ know who he was. That was part of the thrill, he was sure.

The man unzipped Murdoc’s trousers and pulled out his cock. A shiver ran through Murdoc's body. This was no longer just a feel up, and his fear surged.

The man held his dick and ball bag in his hand in a firm grip, and began rolling them back and forth mildly, looking them over. Murdoc grimaced. It wasn't just that he was still sore down there; there was something harrowing and degrading about a stranger holding your cock and balls in his grimy fingers, not being sure what he might do, as he examined them like bruised discount fruit at the supermarket.

“Hrm, not all that big really is it?” the man said.

Both men laughed.

Murdoc scowled. “Piss off! Its _plenty_ big and I do just bloody fine with it! Clearly it caught _your_ interest eh?”

The man in front of him scoffed, continuing to handle the cock in his hand aimlessly, seemingly for no other reason than his own amusement. It certainly wasn't a pleasant feeling for Murdoc, though he could feel the blasted thing hardening a bit anyway. Curse it all.

Murdoc ground his teeth, trying to tune out the sensation of clammy fingers kneading his tackle. “You wankers done yet? You...you get your fun in yet? You talk an awful lot ‘bout disappointment when it comes to my knob when you seem to be enjoying it oh so _verrry much_ …” he purred the last part, eager to throw just about anything he could think of back in their faces.

The man ran his finger over the tip of his cock and Murdoc felt it twitch, his own body betraying him.

“Seems like you're liking this too, eh? _Chap_?”

Murdoc squirmed. “Well you're _shit_ at this, I hope you know.”

“You _would_ know, i'm sure.”

“Well it don't take a _genius_ , its _my_ cock in yer hand!”

The man squeezed again. Not as hard as before, but hard enough to remind Murdoc he could, and he might.

Murdoc was sure his face was betraying him too. He keeled, his hand going to the man's wrist. “ _Alright_ mate, alright alright...go easy on that now…i'd like to _keep it_ afterwards…”

the pressure released. Murdoc gasped.

He heard a click and another flash blinded him.

Shit, really? Fuckin’ really? He'd had his cock out on film before, he shouldn't be ashamed, but...that was different! He'd _wanted_ that! And some strange...it was in some fucker's grimey, manky fingers! Some _bloke…_

Fuck. He hoped...they...they wouldn't…

“Oh blackmail, hrm? That what this is?” he growled. “You want my money, is that it?”

They both laughed. The man who'd been taking charge gave him a look he couldn't place. He didn't like it though. Not at all.

“Dunno.” The bastard said idly. “might.”

Murdoc's heart skipped. “what... _what's that supposed to bloody mean?!”_

The man sneered.

Murdoc's mind raced. “You gonna have a wank to it later?! Is that the idea?! You really are bloody queers, you just won't _fucking_ _admit it!_ ”

He wheezed again as he was punched in the gut.

“Look who's bloody talking, eh?” the man behind him said.

“Get bent,” Murdoc rasped.

They both laughed again. Murdoc's skin crawled.

The other man leaned in. Murdoc felt his spit on his face. “Maybe we'll just spread em 'round, eh? Might be good fun, this getting out. Showin' you off.”

Murdoc stopped. His head reeled.

They didn't want anything. They didn't want anything. Anything but to hurt him...to _humiliate_ him…

Something inside him snapped.

He snarled and drove his head into the man's face. It hurt, and made his already sore head ache and his vision dance, but the fuckhead squealed and it was _satisfying_.

Murdoc leaned over and bit the man holding him. He howled too. Murdoc kicked him, and then the other man when he came after him. He kicked him as hard as he could, as many times as he could get in.

He slipped through the bigger man's grip.

He thought about running off for a split second. How much did he care about his dignity or reputation anyway? Not in the face of _survival_ …

...Right.

He jumped at the bastard who'd felt him up, dipping his hand into his pocket. He felt the camera in his fingers and yanked it out.

He didn't have time to think before he felt a hand on the side of his head. He didn't have time to cry out before he was slammed into the side of the cubicle. His vision fritzed. He slid down the metal, twitching.

His world spun around him. Shadows and flickering, dim, pale light and _wet_...his stomach pitched.

He felt himself being dragged up. No, no no…

Fuck... _fuck…_

He fought through the fog and the ringing and kicked out. No, _no_ , _FUCK_

He felt something around his throat and suddenly his feet weren't on the floor. He gagged, his hands grasping clumsily at whatever held him. Eventually, the fight faded from him, and his world started going black.

Abruptly, the pressure released and he inhaled deeply. His head ached. Ached and ached. Throbbed and burned. His brain felt like it was tossing around in his skull. Probably was. That's how it worked, right?

He moaned. His heels were on the floor again, that much he did know.

He felt so bloody cold.


	3. Chapter 3

Murdoc roused with a sharp pain in his head. And then on his face. He realized blurrily he was being slapped again. And maybe again.

He blinked, slightly less dazed. The man in front of him was saying something, and looked rather pissed, but Murdoc's ears were still ringing. There was something weighing on his neck. He reached up to pull at it and found it wouldn't budge.

He blinked again.

"...you _sodding minger_! Thought you could get out of this?"

Murdoc was slapped again, and this time he felt it.

Everything was still hazey, but he managed to find a way to look the fucker in the eye. He spat in it.

That earned him another punch to the face. That wasn't doing anything good for his head, sending his vision dancing again. Then he was punched in the gut, multiple times, until he made a wretched, pained noise.

"C'mon, lay off." He heard the man behind him say. "Thought you wanted him _conscious…_ "

Murdoc realized suddenly the thing around his neck was the big bloke's arm, that he was in a headlock, and his feet were only just barely touching the floor. Fuck.

The man before him snorted. "I guess I'd prefer it if he squirmed a bit."

He grabbed Murdoc by the hair, wrenching his head up. "Don't fuck with us like that again. We'll beat you bloody."

 _"Do it."_ He rasped, wincing. "Do it and see if I'll be awake for whatever it is you want out of me."

He swallowed. He wasn't thinking very clearly right now, but some kind of dread was clawing at his gut, slowly tearing it from the inside out. Maybe it was the fact that his brain was still knocking around, but he just couldn't figure out why, and that made it all worse.

He heard them laugh again. The blond man glanced at his friend, smirking, like they were both privy to a secret Murdoc wasn't in on. He stomach tied itself into knots.

The man pressed his knee into Murdoc's cock and he realized it was still out. Squirm he did, and howl too, until the arm around his neck constricted again.

They finally let up and he breathed raggedly, grimacing. "What are you trying to _do_ here, _castrate_ me?"

The man returned to fondling his bollocks again, rubbing one side in slow circles. "Dunno. Would it cut down on that aggression of yours?"

Murdoc's upper lip curled. A feral rage coursed through him. But so did sickness and humiliation, and a rapidly mounting _fear_.

The touch was repulsive, and degrading, but again he found his body responding, which simply added to the degradation. He knew better than to try and get out of this though. Could these cunts not just be _finished_ with all this?

"Can you get on with it already?" He said tersely, his fear mingling with frustration. "Are you just gonna stand there with a fistful of cock, or are ya gonna give me it back?" His lip twitched. "Or are ya gonna try'n get me off, _luv_?"

Neither of them said anything. Murdoc managed to sneer.

"So this is just what you like, eh? Standing round and gripping a dick in a lav cubicle? You coulda achieved that _complicated_ activity _all by yourself_ , _knobhead_!"

More silence, like he hadn't spoken. Like wasn't in the room at all.

Murdoc had finally had enough. His hands free, he reached out and tried to push him off.

"Well don't just stand there, make up your _goddamned_ _mind_ already! Or maybe you oughta call it a day and let me _be_ , you've had your _fun_ , you mad soddin cunt!"

The man leaned in, sneering. "Oh but I _have_ made my mind up _._ This was always just the _appetizer,_  mate."

Murdoc felt himself surge with desperate, wild fury. He growled like a rabid dog and thrashed at his attackers. He remembered his hands were free and drove a fist into the side of the cunt's stupid fucking head.

The tosser shrieked, stumbling back a bit. He hissed, clutching his temple and pitching obscenities Murdoc's way.

The man behind him grabbed the offending hand by the wrist and twisted it into a painful position.

That made Murdoc whimper, and he went still. It was all on instinct, and he knew a beat later was a mistake.

The man pushed himself off the side of the cubicle, his leering smile returned to his face.

“Oh that's _right_ you think you're some typa bloody musician, yeah?”

The bigger man squeezed his wrist and Murdoc cried out. Terror, real terror swept through him.

No no nonono…he couldn't lose that, not _that_ …

A life without his band, without being able to _play_ , flashed through his brain. He'd always had that. Even when life hurt so bad he'd wish he'd never been born, he'd still had that.

“Alright alright _alright,”_ he wailed. Tears sprang to his eyes. “I'll _behave_ , I promise, I'll…”

 _I'll let you do whatever you'd_ _like, i won't even fight back_. That was really what he was saying. He just couldn't bring himself to say it.

He whimpered. “C'mon, _c'mon…I swear it,_ I will, I _will_...”

The pressure relaxed. He felt something wet slide down his cheeks. No, no he wasn't crying...he didn't _cry_...not _in_ _front_ of anyone, not _now_...

Abruptly, he felt a pat on his cheek, which made him flinch. "There now, there's a good boy." The man purred.

Somehow, that felt worse than anything prior. Finally, _finally_ , he realized there could be more done to him than all the disgusting and painful and humiliating things he'd been subjected to before now. _Finally,_ after _all this_ , he realized there would be.

The blond bloke, the sadistic fuck, yanked down Murdocs trousers and pants, all the way down to his ankles.

Murdoc recoiled. The tears renewed themselves. He tried desperately to quell them.

He didn't want to believe it before. That this was where it was heading.

He felt like he was nine again. Small. Pliable. Too bloody _stupid_ to see it coming.  

He distantly heard a click of a camera, saw a flash through his eyelids.

"Rather nice one." He heard a voice say. "Best so far I'd say."

Murdoc opened his eyes, just in time to watch the bastard take out his cock, and spit in his hand. He started stroking it, eyeing Murdoc all the while.

"I do like this you know."The man's voice hitched, saliva glistening on his teeth. "You asked before and you're right. Does give me a thrill." He breathed in deep, arousal overtaking his face.

Murdoc said nothing, biting his lip. His eyes wandered to the ceiling. He didn't know if it was worse to watch the man play with himself, stiffening up his cock, or simply listen to the wet, slick sound of it over the faint club music, and give himself space to imagine what was going to be done with it.

He felt somewhat sharper breath on the back of his head, and something hard press into the back of his thigh, and realized the man clutching him was enjoying all this too. He tried to tune it out.  

The blond man stopped playing with himself, spat generously into his palm, and ran it over his dick again a few times. He leaned closer and wrapped his still slimey digits around Murdoc's thighs and hauled them over his shoulders.

The sensation of his heels leaving the ground and his body pitching sent a new wave of helplessness and humiliation coursing through him. He was pulled into an uncomfortable position with the edge of his heels sitting on the small of the man's back. His legs didn't bend all that far, held captive by the so very tight jeans pooled around his ankles, but enough to spread him out.

The man spat into his hand one last time and brought his cock into position.

The creeping horror had finally settled in his gut, like some living thing twisting around inside him. That was it. That couldn't be it. That'd hurt them both that couldn't -

“I've got lube,” he said. His voice was soft and desperate and submissive, but he didnt care. He was so beyond caring. “I've got...its in my pocket, look, it's right there if… if you'd just give it a look…” it wasn't much and it wasn't exactly thick enough for this sort of thing, but it was better than, fuck than _saliva,_ and not much of it, practically nothing at all really.

He knew how it felt to have things shoved in there dry, and even somewhat gently it wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat. And he highly doubted this would be any approximation of gentle.

The look on the man's face was cruel and hungry. He didn't even make eye contact, his gaze drifting all over Murdoc's prone body.

Murdoc gripped the arm around his neck. “Please just...it wouldn't be much trouble…its right bloody there if you just…”

His thighs were spread more.

“You bloody bastard,” he choked out. “this won't be pleasant for _you_ , I can guarantee it you _stupid fucking piece of shit...”_ his leg kicked involuntarily, which earned him more pressure on his wrist. He could feel the bones rub together painfully and he clenched his jaw, going still, and then limp.

The man gripped his thighs and pulled him flush. Murdoc felt his breath on him.

Murdoc's voice drew into a warble. The panic was obvious and it stung, but the fear was shutting out any measure of dignity or pride he had left.

‘there's no need for this...it just...its right there and you...you don't need to do this...its just there in my pocket…” his fingers dug into the arm on his throat. He shut his eyes. “Please _._ ” He whispered. “ _Please_ ,” louder, shriller. Something of a sob. “ _c'mon_ just…”

He wasn't sure if it was the anticipation of pain or just the dawning horror that this was happening at all and he couldn't stop it. That he had no control over it, not even a little.

The man finally locked eyes with him. His smile was very cold. His unnervingly straight white teeth shone in the dim fluorescent light.

“Well _I_ think it's enough.” He glanced at his friend. “Don't you think it's enough?”

Murdoc felt his friend shrug behind him. “Only one way to find out.”

He felt some stiff, slick thing slide over his thigh, and rub against his perineum.

Then that hard cock was shoved into him.

He wailed. The arm around his neck tightened and so did the grip on his wrist, but he couldn't help it.

Fuck it hurt. Fucking shit, it bloody hurt. It burned like an open flame. His legs trembled madly.

“Weak piece of shit...can you shut him up?” The man inside of him said to his friend, more annoyed than anything. Annoyed. Like it didn't matter to him what he was doing at all.

Murdoc's neck was constricted further, his head beginning to spin. He felt himself get limper and some part of him, some ancient quiet horrible little part of him his resolve was too thin to suppress, whispered _don't fight it…wait it out, you can do it...relax and it'll all be over soon enough..._

The grip around his throat loosened. He inhaled. His world was still a bit fuzzy around the edges, his arms hanging at his side.

“Don't scream again, you weepy fucking faggot,” he heard distantly. “you’ll fucking regret it.”

Another shove into his arsehole dragged Murdoc out of his haze. He let out a strangled cry, more of a whimper than anything, but he had the presence of mind to drive his crooked, sharp teeth into his lower lip and bite it back, keep it from growing.

“Not bad.” The man said. “Looks like you were a bit right there you whiny slag, is kinda wedged in there. Getting traction for a bits gonna be rough. But that's what blood's for, ain't it?” He gripped Murdoc's hip. “Fuck though, you're nice and tight…”

The man drew back, dragging his cock with him.

Murdoc wailed through his teeth. He let out a broken, quiet sob, and closed his eyes.

Murdoc felt tears run down his cheek. He told himself it was the pain. That was at least half of it anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

The battle to get him properly fucked was a long one, what seemed to be an eternal one.

The dick slid in and out of him, in and out, over and over...that was how it worked after all...but it still felt incredibly grotesque somehow. Lurid. Degrading. The sound of slapping flesh and slick fluids for the first time (well in a long time perhaps) was one he found shameful. stomach churning. It made a bit of bile rise in his throat.

Oh and it _hurt_ . Fuck how it hurt. In or out, every thrust meant _pain_ and lots of it. Murdoc’s whole body trembled with it. His knees buckled with it. His skull felt like a hollow container topped off with it.

The man got a rhythm going, and Murdoc couldn't help it, he cried out. His head was filled with so much pain and humiliation he couldn't think straight at all.

It earned him a slap across the face, constriction on his throat, and more pressure on his wrist. It was so much pressure he felt the circulation go out. He gave another strangled cry, and sobbed again.

“You stupid fucking waste of skin...do you wanna lose your wrist, is that it?”

Murdoc shook his head rapidly, unable to speak. All that came out of his mouth were whimpers.

“That's not an answer you pathetic piece of shit.”

Murdoc licked his lips and managed a hoarse, soft reply, barely audible through the loud music outside the door. “N...no…”

“What was that?”

He closed his eyes. “ _No_.”

“That's what I bloody thought.”

The man dug his grimy nails back into the soft flesh of Murdoc's thigh and thrust into him again. Murdoc twisted, choking back his cries, more tears wrung from him.

Eventually it got to be too much for him to bite back all  his wails; it felt like they were being physically torn from him.

But it didn't matter. His pathetic agonizing was drown out by faint club music and the occasional entry and exit and occupation of lav patrons and the chokehold drowning his cries in gagging and a drifting, tilting vision. Those time were merciful. Those times he thought he might slip under that haze of unconsciousness more permanently. They could savage his catatonic body to their hearts’ content as far as he was concerned. He had a feeling, however, he wouldn’t be allowed that even if it happened by accident.

Either way it didn’t. He always came to, just in time for another wave of agony and humiliation at the realization of what was occuring. His heavy eyes would blink open to the salivating, pleasured, smug expression of a stranger’s face as he drove his cock into his bloodied entrance.

The man in question clapped his hand across Murdoc’s face to rouse him when he was taking too long to come back up. 

“Oi, don’t you check out, now. We’ll wait up for you as long as it takes, y’know.”

Murdoc stumbled around for words. First he needed to remember the meanings of them, the feelings behind them, or how anything at all felt, besides that perpetual haze of throbbing pain. He reached for his instinctual emotional tool kit - bitterness, anger, primed insults. 

  
“C’ld...di...t...takin long’s...seems to be a _you_ pro’lem...frm..frm whe _rrrrr_ eee _i’m_ _sittin_...hehehheh....”

The man grabbed a fistfull of the long hair over the nape of his neck and dug into his thigh with his nails and started thrusting _hard_. Murdoc yelped. The pain really started to kick in and the cry continued into something a lot more forceful. And louder. Which earned him more choking.

“Stop _talking_ , stop _crying_ , stop _making bloody noise_.” The man hissed in his ear.

Murdoc whimpered, swallowing and closing his eyes.

The long stretches of full consciousness were the worst. He felt the brunt force of everything, the way his body was being contorted and stretched and torn up. The heat of two men pressed against him, the way their chests rose and fell against him, a sort of twisted intimacy, reminding him these were two _people_ doing this to him, treating him like a fuckable sack of flesh and not caring one bloody bit. He knew people were capable of that. That and more. But he could have done without the reminder.

He could hear people distantly, moving around in the same room as him getting the pounding of his life, and typically that'd give him a thrill. Right now, all it managed to do was add to the hideousness of the situation. They must hear it, at least sometimes, but clearly they didn't _care_.

Or maybe they just thought he wanted it.

The fucking was taking all too long. Murdoc was beginning to tired, fatigue mingling with pain. He couldn't have been _that_ difficult of a fuck. Was the bastard drawing it out on purpose? It certainly didn't feel like it, the way he was getting torn up right now.

Murdoc tried not to think about it. He tried not to _think_.

Fuck he was so fucking dizzy, but not enough to check out. Not enough to _drift_. It felt like there was no relief of any kind he could cling to.

He reached out his free hand to his attacker. Not to fight him; it was pointless after all and he didn't want to risk it when he was all spread apart and pinned down and had his neck and his wrist to think about. His hand reached out to steady himself because even held in place by his neck and wrist he couldn't keep anything else in any position.

His legs wouldn't stay bent but they wouldn't prop him up either. He was sliding up and down as far as he could go and it wracked his body with a burning exhaustion and a completely different type of pain, one that nestled itself in all his limbs and joints. The alternating pressure was directly on his throat, which made it hard to get in a breath. And of course, the more he slid down the further that cock slid in, those boney hips ramming his arse cheeks and the very delicate inside of his thighs. His fingers shook violently as he grabbed the man's shoulder, bearing his weight on it. the pressure eased a bit. The tiniest relief, but something.

The man shook his hand away, snarling as though he'd tried to push him off.

Murdoc slid down further than before and he whimpered. His hand again went to the arm on his neck, but it wasn't any good for steadying himself. His whole body jerked around as the fucking continued.

The tears flowed out of him, and so did the blood.

He felt the blood, not by the pain, but by how the cock was suddenly sliding more easily. It was almost a relief.

Not nearly enough of one. The fucking got quicker. Stronger, quicker, _fuller_ thrusts. Half-strangled cries of distress and suffering were wrenched out of Murdoc's sorry body.

His hand involuntarily went to the man's chest, shivering, but he pulled it back.

He couldn't quite bring himself to let it hang down. The urge to try and physically protect himself _somehow_ was great. He let the shivering thing curl over his own chest.

The pace was too much. It was too bloody much. Murdoc's lungs couldn't hold onto air.

He inhaled and gathered saliva and pulled on the arm around his neck and rasped. “You...its...i-its...its too…”

He gagged. “Plea...please...please s-slow down…” he nearly drove his teeth into his own tongue - both on accident and on purpose - but he had to try. His whole body was burning, and he felt the heat and the sting just from shutting his eyes. “Pl... _please_ …it…”

 _It hurts_. But of course, that was the point. He was a stupid fucking piece of shit but he'd at least figured that out by now.

And he knew it was a risk asking, and not worth taking at all, but _...fuck_ ...he just couldn't think anything but _pain_ , physical, all-consuming pain, and the sense of feeling like a person at all he'd managed to hold onto over the years being ground under heel.

The man paused, and oh what a relief. Murdoc exhaled, but he looked up and caught the man's expression and knew immediately it wasn't worth the price.

The man sneered, grabbing his hips and raising his leg. The bastard thrust into him so fucking hard he felt it in his spine. Murdoc shreiked, more tears running down his cheeks.

He wished there was someone to hear him. Why wasn't there ever anyone around to hear him?

 _But then, what good would it do me,_ he though hazily.

The arm around his throat constricted again, and he gagged.

Then that monster went back to shagging him, and he picked up the bloody pace. Murdoc felt like his body would give out.

His last thought before shutting his eyes and managing to just almost drift off was in that case he hoped the damn thing would hurry the _bloody fuck up_.


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, _finally_ the man came. 

He kept fucking, riding out the high, but his rhythm slowed, and then finally, _mercifully,_  stopped. 

Murdoc exhaled, feeling dizzy. He let his body go limp. He didn't feel like he had much of a body left.

But it was over. At least for now it was over. 

He hung there for a bit, trembling, trying to get his breathing even. He heard the distant click of a camera and saw a flash.

His stomach pitched at it. But he was too exhausted to even flinch.

The man pulled out of him, which made Murdoc cry out hoarsely, but once the bastard's vile cock wasn't inside him he was pulled up over his assailant's shoulders, the bigger man loosened his grip, and Murdoc managed to settle both his feet on the ground properly.

His legs quaked. His trousers were still down around his ankles. There was blood and cum on his arse and thighs and his head was still spinning a bit. 

He felt sick, and strangely unclean. He didn't know he even had the capacity to feel that way. What was left to defile, even before this began? He never even had his _pride_. 

Well whatever he'd had, it was gone now. And it's absence _hurt_ , it ached in his chest and nearly brought him back to tears. He swallowed that feeling back down. 

“R-r...right. Alright then. Suppose...suppose we're done then.” He whispered, as if it were just another shag. He could sell that lie to himself, just for a bit. 

His knees were still shaking. He wobbled on his heels. 

Just standing hurt, it felt nearly impossible. Walking would be a bitch. 

He wondered how he was accomplishing it now and realized a hand was still firmly encircling his wrist.

The man who'd fucked him laughed. “Oh you think this is over, do you? My mate's not had a turn yet.”

Murdoc glanced back at the other man, who was smiling. His gaze turned back to his assailant. He wasn't sure what the expression on his face looked like but he imagined it was one of vulnerability and fear and... _horror_ , because the bastard seemed to _relish_ it. 

Murdoc made a noise. It was a half-formed protest but he didn't know if he could go through with it. 

“N...n...le...let me _go_ …” he swallowed. “You've...you've had quite a bit of fun with me _already_ can't you be _satisfied_?” 

The man who'd fucked him bloody leaned in closer to him. Murdoc flinched, a deep, full body flinch, stepping back into his soon-to-be assailant. 

The man still had his dick in his hand. He reached out and Murdoc closed his eyes. When he stole a glance back he realized the perverted piece of shit was wiping his bloody, sticky cock off on Murdoc's shirt. 

The indignity of it made Murdoc want to spit in his face, but all the horrible things that could still be done to him danced through his brain. He had a very vivid vision of the man's cock pounding the back of his throat, the taste of it on his tongue, for one. He bit his trembling lip, his free hand balling into a fist. 

The man pulled on the fabric bunched between his fingers, drawing Murdoc a bit nearer. "We're done when we bloody say we're done."  

Then he returned to causally using Murdoc's shirt as a rag. When he was finished cleaning up, he pulled his trousers up and stuffed his cock back into his pants, zipped them up. He gestured to his friend with his head, giving a cocky little smile. 

His friend handed him Murdoc's wrist. He was dragged along, stumbling over his weak legs and his trousers. 

They changed positions, the one about to have him taking the place of his friend, the one who'd already had him backing towards the toilet. He pulled Murdoc's arm back behind him.

Murdoc let out a small cry at his arm being twisted. He was shoved against the side of the cubicle. He caught himself with his free hand, and laid there against it. He felt his breathing getting rapid and shallow. 

He also heard the other man unzipping his trousers. He swallowed some bile rising in his throat. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted to look, but he also didn't know if he just wanted to stand there and wait to be stuck, not knowing exactly when it would happen. 

He glanced behind himself, and suppressed a whimper. 

The other bastard was much bigger than his friend, and already hard.

Murdoc's free hand curled up tight. For an awful, panicked moment he was positively _certain_ he couldn't take any fucking _more_ of this.  

Well, he would take it, of course. He had no bloody choice in the matter. 

No choice at all. 

The other man pulled him a bit more towards himself, and bent him over as far as he would go. He prodded his sore, bleeding arsehole and Murdoc keened. 

A thought got caught in his brain. A desperate one.

Maybe...it was worth a try…

He recalled the consequences he'd reaped before but all he could think of right now was his bleeding arse and that man's big cock inside it. He never thought something like that could terrify him, not before now. The last round had certainly taught him well. 

“Please..” He said quietly. “It would be so much easier with...with…there's still lube in my trouser pocket…” he felt tears spring to his eyes and his gut twisted in humiliation and fear. “P- _please_ …” He choked on his own sob.

The man stuck his fingers in deeper and Murdoc cried out, straining practically on his tip toes. He half-suppressed a whimper, pressing his head into the wall and biting his lip. 

Then the man reached over with his other hand and pulled his trousers up, just enough to dig around in his pockets.

Murdoc knew better than to expect a good outcome - it was entirely possible he was being toyed with - but he did hope for one. As good as this could get at any rate. He felt the blood on his thighs getting tacky and cold. 

The man pulled out the half empty tube and popped open the cap. Murdoc heard the sounds of slick liquid being squeezed from it. He knew better to refrain from any positive emotional reaction until he could tell where this was going. 

His legs trembled, and he tried to put his weight on the cubicle wall. 

The man stuck his fingers into his arse again, which pulled another whimper from him. the cold liquid made it sting but also soothed it. He slumped against the wall, relief sweeping through him. It'd still hurt, he wasn't an idiot, but the thought of it hurting even a little bit less was something he clung to with a death grip.

The other man scoffed. “You're going soft on him huh?” 

The other man snorted. “Just thinkin' about my dick.” he heard him lubing himself up. “'Sides, maybe i'd like to have an arse left to fuck by the time i get my second turn.” 

Second turn. _Second turn…_

Murdoc had been too dazed and pained to even consider the possibility that this wouldn't be over with one fuck a piece. A shiver ran through his body. He swallowed the wail building in his throat. They'd make fun of him and hurt him again for it and he couldn't take any of that right now. Plus he refused to give them the satisfaction of his distress. 

He tried to summon some kind of strength to withstand this all. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, his eyes screwing shut and then opening. 

He glanced back. He was being leaned into already. His breath caught, and he turned away. 

 Then the pain split through him. 

He jerked, gasping, soft cries leaving him.

That wretched little voice returned, trying to coach him into resigning himself to being used. This time he listened.

_Relax...relax…it'll be over soon, you'll see...you can do this...relax..._

It was so fucking hard to. The pain shook him, cut him through. Buzzed inside his skull.

He tried not to react, still hoping to save his wrist and his sore tired body. He tried to stay still and keep from tensing, but it was so damn difficult. The cock slid in much more smoothly, but it still _burned._ The raw parts of him were ground against and stretched out. 

He buried his head into the crook of his arm, shaking. He felt the echoes of wails twisting in him, but all that came out was rasping and soft little cries.

He could do this...he could do this… 

_He could do this._

It felt like an eternity, but finally the cock was all the way in. He stood there, bent over and trembling. 

The man currently fucking him didn't seem as eager to wring suffering from him as the first. He just kept standing there for some unholy reason, exhaling deeply, but he didn't do anything more than that, despite there being oh so many readily available cruelties to leverage against him in this state.

Murdoc swallowed, his mouth feeling sticky and dry. 

He could do this. He could do this. He could fucking do this. 

The man gripped his hips, and pulled back. 

Murdoc let out a strangled cry, pressing his forehead into the cubicle. His hair was crushed underneath, straining at the roots.

The fucking was slow at first. It wasn't exactly gentle or careful, but the man thrust in and out of him seemingly without spite, concentrating on the pleasure of it. 

But eventually it picked up. Not to the unbearable degree before, but it was still plenty quick, and plenty rough. And still plenty _agonizing._  

Murdoc's body jerked at every shove into him, and out of him too, and the slick sound of sex filled his ears again. He gasped and gasped and swallowed and choked and whimpered. He felt the tears again. Heard the cries pulled from his throat. 

He sobbed. Sobbed wretchedly. 

He knew what they thought of him for it. He knew they were mocking him, he heard them laughing quietly, smugly.

But they'd already got what they wanted anyway. He couldn't pretend they hadn't anymore. And there was just nothing else for him to do at this point but stand there and take it, endure all that pain and fear and humiliation twisting him all up, and cry as he did it. Cry until he didn't even have that, cry until he was wrung out and he'd be denied that one small reprieve, the very last thing he had left.       

And that he fucking did. 


	6. Chapter 6

It was sure to be over soon. That's what he told himself. he doubted they'd go more than two rounds each, definitely no more than three if he was particularly unlucky. 

he didn't know what they'd do with him afterward, but he had a suspicion it wouldn't be anything like _killing_ him. Drop him and walk off most likely. Hopefully. It wasn't like he'd go after them, not without risking the incident getting out, and they knew it too, if the photos were anything to go off of.

Well unless they _did_ decide to pass them around. But even then, he wasn't sure what he could do about it. What he _would_ do about it. 

He felt a hand on the back of his head, and his face was pressed further into the cold metal of the cubicle. He felt it shake. Didn't anyone notice? But they had no reason to think it wasn't consensual, wasn't anything but what he wanted. It would be. Maybe it was. 

Murdoc listened his own labored breathing bounce off of the metal wall. He closed his eyes again, and let the situation fade, let his mind trail off. He pretended he liked it and just about believed it. He liked pain right? And he liked a good, rough, public fuck. He even liked it up the arse. And he did like men, though no one else had to know that.

He heard someone new come into the lav. His heart rose into his throat. He wanted to call out, but some part of him stopped it cold. A lot of it was fear for his arm, fear of more battering, fear that it would be a waste anyway. 

Another strong bit of it was the fear of anyone seeing him like this, pressed into the side of a lavatory cubicle with his arm twisted back and a cock up his arse. A pathetic victim. Everyone knew he was a slag, probably a faggot too, and figured he was the one getting bent over at that, but this was just raw, undeniable proof. 

And a whole other part of him, one he hadn’t been fully acquainted with since he was a kid in that cafeteria pantry, which said that he shouldn't even bother stopping it, that it was pointless anyway, might as well just get it over with so he could go on with his life, just let himself go limp and pliable and block it all out. It was all he was good for anyway. This was more or less a favor to him, getting proper use out of him.  

And then that part of him that said he deserved it. And it almost felt cleansing to get what he deserved. A good hard pounding up his arse in a seedy club toilet was almost too good for him, barely a punishment, and he bloody knew it.

He opened his eyes, he cheek pushed in, to the point his felt his teeth rub against it, the drool dripped down his chin. He was zoning out. The metal of the cubicle was warm now, he thought idly. Fuck, what was taking this fuckhead so damn long? Just cum already so the other guy could take his second bloody turn. Satan.

He watched some clubbers come and go through the gap between the door and the wall. Taking a piss and occasionally chatting drunk about nonsense he couldn't overhear. 

And then someone familiar walked in.

Russel made his way over to one of the basins, and ran the water. 

Fuck. 

His heart went still for a minute. Some bit of him wanted to cry out. Russel would help him, right? He could certainly beat Murdoc's attackers to a bloody pulp if he wanted. 

But maybe he wouldn't want to. Maybe he wouldn't care. Maybe he'd laugh at him, or at least get some well place jibes in. Or maybe he'd pity him. Lecture him. Murdoc would probably never hear the end of it. 2d would know soon after and he’d ride Murdoc over it forever. 

Murdoc didn't know if he could handle any of that. 

He watched Russel splash his face with water, and dry it off on his sleeve. He stared into the mirror for a while, a far away expression on his face. Murdoc wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. 

Russel got some soap and stuck his hands back under the water for a good long while. Much longer than he needed, in Murdoc's opinion. Then he shut off the water and reached for the paper towels. 

The man fucking Murdoc pressed in deeper, drawing a whimper from him, making his free hand curl against the side of the cubicle. 

Murdoc shut his eyes. He knew Russel was gonna leave, and he was gonna miss his chance, his one chance to end this all a bit early. His one chance to get the help he realized he _desperately_ wanted. He didn't like feeling this way. He could do without this hideous, raw vulnerability. 

He knew he really didn't deserve any help. And he didn't know if he could take the humiliation of Russel seeing him like this. He'd have seen him like this _always_ and...and…

He heard heavy footsteps as Russel started to leave. 

Murdoc bit his lip. 

He called out. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls my way out of the sewers* guess who's fuckin' _back_ lads

“ _Russel,_ ” he yelled. His voice sounded so goddamned panicked and desperate. “ _Russel!”_

He felt his wrist being twisted. The man inside him swore and wrapped his hand around his neck. But through all his exhaustion Murdoc found the smallest scrap of renewed strength, and started fighting back again; if they wanted to break him, he wouldn't make it easy for them.

The man who'd had his turn first was spitting obscenities and calling him all manners of degrading things. He felt his hair being ripped out of his skull. 

“Murdoc?” he heard over the music.

The humiliation burned in him, almost enough to shut him up on his own. He kicked the man behind him in the shins. “Get the _fuck_ off me you _bloody pieces of shit_...” 

He thrashed. “Russel,” he choked, feeling himself being strangled again…his wrist was giving out and something hard was being driven into his ribs over and over. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. “ _Russel…_ ” He rasped. “ _Help…_ ” 

He heard distantly the door of the cubicle being ripped open, the lock snapping off. His attackers stopped cold. He imagined the fear in their eyes and some part of him did revel in the satisfaction of that.

He caught a glimpse of Russel's face, confusion and shock and horror dancing across it before rapidly morphing into a terrible rage. Murdoc flinched instinctively. 

But of course it wasn't aimed at him. 

...Well he certainly hoped not anyway. A further beating was not the outcome he was hoping for. 

Russel drove a fist into the nearest man's face and Murdoc heard a _crunch_ and a shriek. He hoped it was the bastard’s nose. He knew from experience how much _that_ bloody hurt. 

The man stepped back, letting go of Murdoc's throat and sliding out of him. Murdoc gasped and propped himself up on the cubicle. The other man still had hold of his wrist, but Russel pushed past the other and drove his fist into him as well. More crunching and squelching and howling. His wrist was released. 

Murdoc quickly stood up, leaning fully against the cubicle. Some part of him thought maybe he was imagining this. It felt too good. Things never felt this good. 

A deep sense of relief washed over him. Relief at the aid, relief at not getting _fucked_ anymore, relief at someone giving a goddamned bloody _shit_ about him, relief, relief, relief…

He didn't know what to do. His head was still spinning. He couldn't get enough oxygen in him fast enough. 

Vaguely he saw one of them crawl out from under the side of the cubicle. _Coward._  He thought, though a bit of a smirk twisted his lips. Even he could take a beating. 

The noises stopped suddenly. He blinked leadenly, dragging his eyelids. Everything was so bloody hazey.

He heard paper tearing and felt the sensation of something a little rough being wiped over his thighs. He was too tired to resist. But then he felt it brush over his arsehole and made a truly pathetic, pained noise. He made a weak attempt to push the person off of him before realizing who it was. 

Russel tossed the toilet paper (that's what he figured it was anyway) somewhere aside and pulled up his trousers. More relief spread through him. He never thought he'd be so bloody happy to have his clothes back on. 

He reached for his zipper, which Russel was already doing up. A rush of further humiliation swept through him.

“Lay off...m fine…” He fumbled with his belt, which Russel was working on too. He tried to swat his hand away, though clumsily and weakly. “'ve..i've...got it…’m _fine._..” 

Russel let him, but he took over again when Murdoc couldn't quite get the prongs of the buckle into the holes. 

Maybe it was for the best. Murdoc’s head ached. One eye was puffy and throbbing, which made it difficult to see. His wrist hurt and his shoulder hurt and his side bloody hurt. His fingers twitched and shook with exhaustion.

Russel guided him out of the cubicle. Murdoc stumbled out into the lavatory, the lights stinging his eyes. 

He landed near a basin, and clutched it. His stomach churned. 

He wretched and vomited into it.

His bad wrist buckled. He caught sight of the bruising. He looked in the mirror, and good _fuck_ he looked like hell. His eye was worse than he thought. There was blood and tears and spit; his cheeks sparkled like an oil slick. His throat was sporting a black and blue and purple choker, some of it in the shape of fingers. 

His lip trembled and he let out a broken sob. 

His knees shook. He felt someone put their hand under his arm and he jumped and pulled away, making a noise between a whimper and a snarl. He looked up and saw Russel - and of _course_ it was Russel, no one else was here ( _thank Satan_ ) and who else'd wanna fucking get near him when he was like _this_ \- and he wasn't sure if he was still angry at the touch or not. He was certainly still feeling the adrenaline shake him.

“C'mon man, you can barely stand.” Russel hasn't spoken until now, and Murdoc had been grateful...up until this point. 

“p... _piss off,_ ” he hissed. His mind was at the condition of his arse and he didn't appreciate what he took as a condescending jibe. He clutched the basin, nearly buckling under his own weight. 

Russel reached out to him and Murdoc stiffened. He bared his teeth. “Stop touching me you stupid, useless cunt.” He snapped. 

Russel retracted his hand. “I'm just trying to help-” 

“Well you _did_ , now _sod off._ ” Murdoc gritted his teeth and pushed himself off of the basin. 

He yelped and went tumbling to the floor. He grabbed another nearby basin to catch himself. 

Russel was already pulling him up.

Murdoc shut his eyes. He didn't want his help. He didn't want his help to _begin_ with. He should have just taken the pounding until they were done with him. It'd hurt even more - oh it'd be hell to stand, he was sure - but none of this was starting to feel like it was worth it. 

He caught himself crying again. When did all that start? Fuck, Russel had so much leverage on him now. He could blackmail him for all of eternity. Couldn't fight off just two blokes or take the full shag, couldn't stand up when it was barely a fuck an a half, and then _cried_ about it. He prayed Russel wouldn't sell it to the nearest tabloid. Or that he'd not tell anyone else for that matter. Especially not the rest of his bandmates, oh...oh... _fuck_ ….

He should’ve just taken it. He was too weak to bloody take it. He should’ve just taken it. 

He sobbed. And sniffled. Like a brat who'd skinned his knee for the first time. He deserved a cuff just as much now. 

Russel's touch was gentle and some wretched passing thought that he'd have a go at him too (even though it absolutely made no sense, even in this state he could tell that) made him stiffen again. 

Russel seemed to notice, because he threw his arm under Murdoc's and lifted him up in a way much less touchy and soft and _condescending_ and pulled him back to the basin. He let go of him, let him prop himself up again. It was the nicest thing he'd ever fucking done for him.

“Whaddya wanna do, Muds?” he said. His voice was as soft as it could be in the face of the music and Murdoc's pathetic mewling. 

Murdoc ran the sleeve of his bad arm over his good eye.

Some pricks chose that moment to walk into the lav and he jumped, gripping the rim of the basin tight, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. If they noticed the state he was in, they said nothing about it. He figured they hadn't noticed the state of the far cubicle yet, but maybe it wouldn't matter to them either. Maybe it just looked like he got into a bad scrap with someone. He hoped so. 

Satan he hoped so. 

The brief bit of music as the door shut behind them all too slow made his head pound. He glimpsed the technicolored lights and heard bits of conversation and was suddenly all too aware there were _people_ out there, _people_ and so many of them too. There was definitely some tosser out there with a camera. 

Oh. Fuck. The camera. Fucking shit. Fuck. 

The idea of pictures of him getting stripped and shagged being posted somewhere, somewhere _public…_ he keened and leaned over the basin. it took everything in him to keep from blubbering or vomiting again. 

“Muds?” He glanced up, realizing Russel had probably been talking to him.

“Wha-whadya bloody _want_ you big stupid fuck.” He muttered. 

“What do you want me to do?” Russel repeated slowly. Like he was talking to some braindead idiot. 

Murdoc glanced back into the mirror. Barely any fresh skin on his face. None really. He heard the men that'd walked in finishing up. 

“Take me back to the studio, Russel.” He said. 

Russel said nothing for a minute. “...you sur-”

“Yes! _fuck,_ yes i'm _sure_ , you dumbarse… fucking…” he bit his lip. “Jus...just take me back there, I want...I want to go _home,_ Russ _…_ ” his voice wobbled and cracked, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He imagined leaving the lights and the noise and all these bloody _stupid people_ behind, downing a bottle of whisky - whisky, rum, gin, vodka, shoe polish, _anything_ \- and crawling into bed and _Satan_ what a dream. What a fucking dream. He'd never wanted anything so bloody bad in all his accursed pathetic fucking goddamned _life_. 

Russel nodded. “alright…ok…”  

He reached out to grab him again and Murdoc didn't protest. The sooner he was not in this grubby public toilet, not in this shithole _club_ anymore, the better. He'd put up with anything for that. 

Russel was gentle. It felt wrong somehow, but Murdoc couldn't say he _wasn't_ grateful. 

Murdoc kept his eyes down as they passed to two men standing at the basins beside them. One of them glanced at him and he looked out from under his hair and he _growled_. The man quickly turned his head. Good. He had a brain in him. Murdoc just hoped he didn't recognize him or Russel. 

Murdoc glanced back at the bent up cubicle he'd been shagged...he’d been _assaulted_ in...fuck...he was gonna have to live with that….at least when he was just a dumbarse little sprog no one could expect him to…

He caught sight of something on the floor. Some small silver shining object and…

He tugged on Russel. “Wait, go back.”

Russel gave him a look. “Thought you wan-”

“Shut the fuck up and bring me back!” 

Russel made no comment, but he did look terribly confused. And vaguely irritated. 

Well some things never changed he supposed. It was a relief all its own.

The two strangers were finishing up and they had noticed Murdoc making a scene, but he hissed at them with his teeth bared like some feral beast. They glanced from him to Russel and looked away, and made their exit from the loo, perhaps a little too quickly.

Russel was taking Murdoc back to where they'd been standing before, but he whacked his arm with his hand. “not the basin, you fucking moron, the...the _cubicle_.” He swallowed. In all fairness he didn't wanna return to the scene of _…_.well….but he had no choice. 

Russel sighed, dragging him to the cubicle. Murdoc made a sudden, unsteady dive to the floor, causing Russel to make a surprised noise. ”The fuck are you…?” 

Murdoc bit back a cry as he accidentally put pressure on his bad wrist, instead using that hand to scoop up the camera and try to stuff it into his pocket. It didn't fit. Curse his height, curse his tight jeans. Curse his bloody shaking hands, curse it all…

He handed the camera to Russel, who took it. Russel looked confused at first. Then something in his expression changed. It was the echo of understanding, like he had come to the logical conclusion but was trying not to accept it. 

Murdoc couldn’t stand that fucking stupid, godawful look. 

"Al-alright then," he said, as if the scene hadn't just played out. Almost as if none of this had played out at all. One could be convinced of that, unless they noticed the unsteadiness of the words. How they trembled. How they wheezed out and choked like a bad smoker's cough. Like a hanged man's final breath. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to tune out the awful music and the awful smell and the awful bullshit words that he was sure was being thought by the two of them so fucking loudly and never said, trying to imagine _home_ , or as close as he had, instead of the millions of obstacles standing in the way of him from being there.

"Alright then." He said with more conviction and far more exhaustion. His body shuddered and he let himself fall back onto Russel, who caught him without hesitation. "Let's get the fuck out of here." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been 6 months? Oof. Rip
> 
> Shoutout to the ppl waiting patiently for my fucking clown shoe brain to be "in the zone" or w/e lmfao


End file.
